


did i hurt you when i fell from heaven

by funeralstrut, galaxyeyedrops



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Gen, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2020-06-28 04:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funeralstrut/pseuds/funeralstrut, https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyeyedrops/pseuds/galaxyeyedrops
Summary: Lucifer Canaan leads a satisfactory existence. Between the comfort he enjoys from his inherited wealth and the fulfillment from his career as a pilot, there is no reason why his life might be lacking in any way. So why does he still feel like he is living a lie?The winged stranger he crashes into one fine day might just hold the answer—that is, if he'd just explain why he always looks at Lucifer as if he's seeing a ghost.





	1. Chapter 1

Lucifer Canaan, 27, thinks he sees his life flash before his eyes when he runs into the biggest bird strike of his flying career. 

He stays calm—he has always been good at staying calm—and despite the severity of the situation, he steers the small plane back down to the airfield without any further incident. 

"Must have been just a glancing blow," says the mechanics who come by afterwards to inspect the damage. They'll have to check further to be sure, but why not just retire for the night, they suggest. No real harm was done, after all, and maybe he should take it easy, isn’t he a little shaken still?

Lucifer stays silent as he walks away, and he wonders to himself why no one has commented on the massive blood spatters covering half the fuselage. The deep red colour continues to haunt his mind's eye as he turns to leave. 

But a few minutes later, Lucifer Canaan, 27,  _ knows _ he sees his life flash before his eyes when he spots the broken, bloody figure of a man lying face-up in the plains neighbouring the airfield, and he finds himself running over before he can even think about it.

Worryingly, the stranger is barely breathing, and his brown locks stick to his face, damp with blood. Lucifer attempts to shake the man awake to check if he is conscious, and it is only when his trembling hands shake a little too hard that Lucifer realises that there is much more to the injured man than he has assumed. Quite literally so, as what he had thought to be a pile of dead leaves beneath them both shake along with his hands, and Lucifer realises that he is in fact looking at a pair of enormous brown wings. Concern—and no small amount of curiosity—leads him to help the man into a sitting position. His eyes can’t help but wander to the man’s back, exposed by the low-cut back of his top, and right there, plain as day, mottled brown feathers transition abruptly into bare skin where the wings appear to attach to the spine.

Lucifer has no choice but to make the obvious conclusion.

This man isn't human.

He barely manages to wrap his mind around this fact when one of the mechanics from earlier calls to him from behind.

"Canaan," says the woman, walking over. "Are you sure you don't want a doctor?"

"No. Well, yes. Quickly, please," he manages, startled. "The blood loss—"

"Wait, you're  _ bleeding _ ?"

Lucifer blinks. "It's not me that's bleeding, it's..." He looks at the winged stranger on the ground again, and back up to the mechanic, who is now looking at him with mild concern. She doesn't notice any of it at all. Just like with the blood on the plane.

He does a quick mental inventory of the first aid supplies at home.

"I... will be fine, with some bed rest," he says instead. "Thank you for your concern."

He waves the unconvinced mechanic off with a dismissive goodbye and takes the stranger back to his car in a piggyback carry. Despite the fact that the two of them pass by numerous people on the way, not a single person makes any remark about the bloodied, winged man on Lucifer’s back, his body so painfully light that Lucifer finds himself constantly looking back to check that he is still there.

The silence is deafening.

* * *

It is not long before the stranger stirs on his couch. The man blinks sleepily, and Lucifer is surprised to see that his eyes are a ruby red. 

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Faster than he can process it, Lucifer is blinded by a burst of light and then flung back several metres onto the cold floor as if he were no more than a ragdoll. His back slams against the coffee table, and for a moment all he can focus on is the sound of cracking wood. It's only once Lucifer recovers that he realises: despite his injuries, the stranger has somehow managed to stand up, pull a longsword out of nowhere, and hold it at Lucifer's neck, all in the space of a second. 

The man's eyes are desperate, and every inch of him radiates threat.

"Who..." the man says, his voice shaking badly despite the utter stillness of his blade. "This can't be... this is some fucked up—who are you?!"

Lucifer sits up slowly and raises his hands in surrender. "My name is Canaan," he says, as calmly as he can manage. "I brought you here to treat your injuries. I... believe I may have accidentally crashed into you."

The man blinks, as if jolted out of a reverie. "What?"

"On a flight today, I hit what I thought was a bird, which I now believe was actually you." 

When the stranger remains wide-eyed and silent, Lucifer considers his antique mode of dress and the utterly lost expression on his face, and decides that maybe he should explain a little further. "You... know what a pilot is, right? I was operating a small flying vehicle, and I think we collided mid-air—"

"Stop." The man finally lowers his sword, and it simply disappears into thin air as if it had never been there. "I know what a pilot is," he says, a little sullenly. 

"Apologies. I did not want to assume." Lucifer shrugs his shoulders in what he hopes is a disarming manner. "May I continue cleaning your wounds?"

"There's no point," replies the man dismissively. "They will heal on their own soon enough."

"That... might be so, but as the party responsible for those wounds, I would really like to help treat them."

"They weren't from you. So there's no need."

Terse answers that only led to more questions. An attitude not unlike that of a feral beast. Hostility as tangible as the edge of a dagger… Everything about this mysterious winged stranger is screaming at him to keep away—and yet somehow, Lucifer cannot find it in him to simply let this man leave. 

"Very well. Then please stay a while, and consider that your apology to me."

_ "Apology?!" _

The man’s wings flare up a bit with his yelling, and Lucifer has to restrain a sudden urge to laugh. In response, he gestures to the wrecked furniture behind him. "I was rather fond of that coffee table."

The stranger openly gawks at him. "You're crazy. I literally threatened to kill you a minute ago."

"It takes one to know one, as they say," Lucifer says amicably, now openly smiling despite himself. "May I know your name?"

"... It’s Sandalphon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh sandy. you poor bastard


	2. Chapter 2

As he cleans Sandalphon's wounds, Lucifer finds his fingers straying.

He's wiping down Sandalphon's back now, which means he can't see Sandalphon's face, which is maybe why he gets a little distracted, in hindsight. Patches of dried blood have stuck portions of the wings together into an unpleasant mess, and some of the plumage sticks out awkwardly at an angle. Lucifer puts aside the wet towel he's been using for a moment—he just wants to straighten out this _one_ feather, and he can't help but try to adjust it, just a little bit. But then Sandalphon inhales sharply all of a sudden, a shudder rippling through the entirety of his wings, and Lucifer snaps out of his temporary daze.

"I'm sorry," he says hurriedly. "Was that painful?"

Sandalphon still doesn't look back, which doesn't tell him very much. For a moment, they sit in silence as Lucifer watches Sandalphon's shoulders rise and fall in repeated succession.

"It's fine," Sandalphon says finally. "Just... go slower, maybe."

Lucifer takes that as permission to continue, and he does, taking extra care to be gentle. He goes back to the towel for the time being, taking time to wipe at every stain he sees. Each time he presses down with the towel, the wings expand slightly, and each time he lifts his hand, they contract: a rhythm played through Sandalphon's body with Lucifer's hand keeping tempo. Soon enough, much of the blood washes off without much fanfare.

His eyes catch once again on the very base of the wings. He's entranced. It's downright fascinating, and he can't help but wonder how they work—obviously, there's no way mundane biophysics can account for such a structure, and the thrum of power that he can somehow feel in them is unlike anything else he's ever encountered. More than that, however, he has to admit that there's something beyond wonder that draws him to the wings beneath his fingers. For some reason, they feel almost... familiar, which is an absurd notion, but he can't deny the sense of déjà vu that grows stronger with every second. An urgency he's never had before begins to lurk in his heart, for no fathomable reason, but Lucifer does his best to keep that uneasy feeling from entering his fingers as he continues slowly massaging away.

With his efforts, tension slowly leaves Sandalphon, and both his wings and his shoulders visibly relax.

"Sandalphon," Lucifer tries.

Sandalphon's head tilts slightly, questioning. He remains facing forward, however, and Lucifer has to restrain himself from reaching out and turning that face towards himself. "Yes?" he asks.

"Have we, perhaps, once..." _Met before? In the past? In a memory, or a dream?_

Lucifer trails off, but it's apparent that he's already said too much, because Sandalphon tenses up almost instantly, undoing all his previous efforts. "No, please pay me no mind. I must be mistaken," he amends, more to himself than anything else.

Sandalphon looks so small beneath those wings, and for some reason, Lucifer finds himself wishing he could bear some of that weight. Without thinking, he idly trails a finger on the base of the right wing, feeling out the muscles joining feathers and skin—which is apparently an even bigger misstep than his conversational blunder, because Sandalphon stands up abruptly, knocking over his stool in the process, and Lucifer is shocked to hear him breathing raggedly in anger.

"Have you had enough? Done poking around?" says Sandalphon roughly. His fists clench.

"... I apologise. I didn't mean to—"

But before Lucifer can finish his sentence, Sandalphon makes for the nearest window, and simply takes off in flight, injuries and all.

Lucifer reaches out with an empty hand, but the warmth is already gone from his fingers.

* * *

He has only partially cleaned up the mess when a cheerful voice rings from outside the front door.

It's Lyria, coming by to visit on the way back from school as per her daily routine, and as usual she doesn't wait for him to actually open the door to begin telling him about her day. They'd met out of pure chance, once; when Lyria had moved into the neighbourhood, she'd resolved to make friends with everyone nearby, and had ended up going door-to-door greeting everyone until she got lost, which was when Lucifer had had to take her back to her home. She'd said hi to him every weekday since.

As a bachelor living alone, it wasn't long before Lucifer eventually found himself looking forward to the regular call of _Mr. Canaan! You wouldn't believe what happened today,_ and despite everything that has just happened, Lucifer greets her with a smile as he walks outside to say hello.

"—and then, you see, Ms. Katalina gave Ayer a slap on the head, and told him to play nice, and then he was scowling and _oh no!"_ Lyria stops her excited monologue abruptly as she gasps. "Mr. Canaan! Are you _hurt?"_

Lucifer blinks in surprise.

"Y-y-your hand! It's covered in blood!"

"Ah, this?" He raises the hand in question. "Please, don't fret. This is not my blood. I was treating someone else's injury."

He pauses thoughtfully as Lyria visibly sags in relief.

"Th-thank goodness, you gave me a surprise... Is the person you're treating okay now, at least?"

By many definitions, Sandalphon did not seem _okay,_ per se, but... "I think his injuries will recover just fine in time. However." Lucifer pauses cautiously, and considers how to continue. "Lyria. Have you ever been able to... see things that others are not able to?"

The poor girl freezes up. Unbidden, the image of Sandalphon shrinking into the shadow of his wings comes to mind.

"No, ahahah, I've never... I haven't... I..." Words failing her, Lyria looks down and fidgets nervously. "Why are you asking something like that, Mr. Canaan?"

"Lyria. I don't mean to scare you. But if you do know something along those lines, then... I need your help."

Lucifer squats down to see eye-to-eye with her. For the second time this day, he sees apprehension and fear reflected in another's eyes. It is not a pleasant feeling.

He summarises the day's events for her anyway, as she listens in silence.

"Lyria. What do you know about the supernatural?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a twitter so come yell at me (@soenji_n) - su


	3. Chapter 3

Despite her obvious reservations, Lyria agrees to come in and talk.

Lucifer gestures for her to take a seat on the couch. He gives her a little space to steel herself, taking the opportunity to make himself a latte and also some coffee milk. For a while, only the silent clinking of glassware rings in the air. When he returns from the kitchen, he catches Lyria staring intently at the bloodied towel still set out from earlier, as if trying to glean something from it. She bites her lip in concentration.

"It's no wonder no one else saw this man," she says, at last. "But for something to be able to hurt him this far..."

"Is he some sort of spirit, then?"

"He's more than just your usual spirit," Lyria says, finally raising her eyes from the towel. "I think... he might actually be a god."

Lucifer's gaze sharpens. "What do you mean?"

"Well... it's kind of a feeling. I'm sorry, I rarely ever talk about these things so I can't explain it well, but, um..." Lyria clutches the hem of her dress. "Even from the traces he’s left behind, you can tell that he's really powerful, and... something about it feels familiar, too. It kind of reminds me of the land itself? So if I had to guess, he might be the guardian deity of this area."

"... I think I can see what you mean," Lucifer volunteers.

"So you can tell too?"

He nods, hesitantly. Lyria brightens up momentarily, but soon slumps over again. "But that makes me more worried," she says. "Not just because he's injured, even though that's bad already, but also... He’s so strong! What was he fighting, that could have done something like this?"

An uneasy silence settles over the two of them.

Then another odd thing comes to Lucifer's mind. "You said he might be the guardian deity of this area. But he called himself Sandalphon, and I haven't heard of any god around that goes by that."

Lyria's eyebrows scrunch up. "Maybe it’s a fake name?"

He frowns. It’s possible. It even makes sense. But Lucifer’s intuition refuses to accept the theory. Sandalphon is tantalisingly, inexplicably, familiar, in an arrestingly personal way, and for some reason, even considering all of the things he may be concealing, Lucifer cannot bring himself to believe that Sandalphon's purported name is a falsehood. Something in his heart protests with a painful twinge at the mere thought.

He idly touches the soiled towel, on which a single, blood-encrusted feather still rests. But as much as Lucifer would wish otherwise, the lone feather holds no answers, hauntingly beautiful though it may be.

The dried blood on his hands begins to itch.

There is only one way forward—he must see Sandalphon for himself once more.

But how to find him?

"Um... Mr. Canaan?"

Lucifer blinks out of his reverie. Across him, Lyria smiles sheepishly.

“I'm sorry I don't have any better ideas, but... maybe you could try visiting the local shrines one by one?”

* * *

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take very long.

"Wh-Why-Wh-"

Lucifer waits patiently for Sandalphon to stop choking on his words. He takes the opportunity to soak in the sights: this shrine is... rustic, and has obviously seen better days, but it is clear that it must have once been a remarkable structure. Despite patches of decay, delicate carvings still adorn the wooden pillars of a central pavilion, and within it he can just about make out traditional motifs covering a large tapestry. Symbols invoking protection and blessings surround a central figure adorned with wings, dignified yet isolated in shining glory. Meanwhile, Sandalphon continues gaping at him, looking more than a little lost. At the moment, there is not much of a resemblance.

Sandalphon does, however, eventually recover. "What the hell are you doing here?! H-how did you even find..."

Lucifer nods his head in respect. "I’m only paying my respects to the deity of this shrine,” he says, watching Sandalphon carefully. “Is there something wrong with me being here?”

Sandalphon knits his brows together, once again on edge. “You've never even visited this shrine before.”

“So you _do_ reside here, then.” Sandalphon's wings come closer to his body, as if on guard, but Lucifer presses on. He _has_ to. “You _are_ the god of this shrine.”

Silence falls.

“... Gods, demons, spirits—the line between any of these is academic,” Sandalphon says dismissively. “People say what they want. They like their nice categories.”

“But you fight off threats to this land, don't you?” Unseen? Unthanked? Lucifer wonders, but does not ask.

“See it that way if you want. I’m... the sole steward of this shrine. That much is true.” His wings fluff up slightly. “And I take care of nuisances around here. That's my duty. If that makes me me a god to you, then so be it. But I don't need _humans_ disturbing my peace.”

Sandalphon’s words are carefully dismissive. He doesn't even look particularly tense, at least compared to their last meeting. But Lucifer can feel an unease from the very land he is standing on... as if Lucifer is trespassing, and the shrine itself is shrinking away in discomfort. And yet Sandalphon is meeting his gaze straight in the eye, a challenge on the tip of his tongue.

How contradictory.

Who is this god, and—Lucifer's heart sinks as he thinks this—why does Lucifer’s very existence seem to fill him with disquiet?

And what is this not-stranger to Lucifer, that it matters so much to himself in return?

“... I mean to leave one final gift of thanks,” Lucifer says, at last. “I don't mean to overstay my welcome.”

He walks on up to the main pavilion, and places a package on the platform, which creaks as he does so. Lucifer is not a very religious man, and so his package is not a very traditional offering. But even as he turns to go, he hopes... He hopes—

“O Supreme _dunce!”_

A loud voice pierces the air. Startled, Lucifer turns back to see—

—two teenagers, one girl and one boy, run past him and _divebomb a god._ With _hugs._

Feathers are sent flying.

_... What just happened?_

Swift as a whirlwind, the girl leaps up and grabs his hand with both of hers. He's too bewildered to resist as she pulls him back to where Sandalphon has been pinned to the ground by a smiling boy.

“You never told us there was someone else in this town who could see you!” says the girl, overjoyed.

Sandalphon coughs in outrage. “Can _neither_ of you read the damn mood?”

“Not one of our specialties,” says the boy cheerfully. “Hi, I’m Gran,” he introduces himself, waving at Lucifer pleasantly as if he isn't currently manhandling a god. “That's my sister, Djeeta.”

“Hello,” is all Lucifer manages to say in return, dazed as he is.

“Our reliable little Lyria was telling us about an injured god,” Djeeta says. “And here we thought, oh no, our one and only divine dunderhead couldn't _possibly_ have hurt himself in the _one_ week we were out of town, but what do we find here?”

“It'd really make us feel better if you took turns and let some other god get injured for a change,” Gran says, too seriously.

“Shut it,” snarls Sandalphon. Without any real heat in the gesture, he shoves Gran off of him.

Djeeta mimes wiping tears from her face. “Is that how you speak to the only caretakers of your shrine?”

“I never asked you to take care of this place,” Sandalphon mumbles.

Djeeta takes this opportunity to jump on him (“How could you!”) in mock melodrama. Relieved of bullying duty, Gran walks up to Lucifer.

“Hope we didn't scare you or anything,” he says. How polite.

“No... no problem,” Lucifer says weakly. He blinks as he realises something. “How did you know Sandalphon was injured?”

Gran pauses. “Sand...alphon?”

Lucifer gestures vaguely to where the god in question is trying not to get his cheeks pinched by an overenthusiastic teenager. “That's what he called himself. I don't know if you two happen to know him by another name.”

Surprisingly, the chaos stops dead. Both Gran and Djeeta have their eyes bulging out at him, and Lucifer has the sudden feeling that they've all just entered the calm eye of a storm, and are just as rapidly about to exit into the worst of its winds.

Djeeta _howls_. Birds scatter from the nearby trees. “To think that all this time you just pretended not to have a name!”

Sandalphon looks done. Or done for. His deadened face says many things.

“We'll have to discuss this,” Gran says. “But first, Mr. ...?”

“Canaan.”

“Mr. Canaan. I don't know how familiar you are with gods and spirits, but in short: _Sandalphon_ —“ he emphasises the name, with a glare, “—is a guardian deity. The deity of this area, in fact. His health has an impact on the town. If you're sensitive to this kind of thing, you can kind of tell from just being here. But here in this shrine, especially...” Gran experimentally raps at a creaking pillar. “Anyone can see how this place is falling apart. And if this shrine is doing so badly, then its god...”

“Is a filthy liar who owes us all an explanation,” Djeeta finishes, vindictively.


	4. Chapter 4

Sandalphon frowns in protest. “I don’t _owe_ anything.”

“You can say that all you want,” Djeeta says with unwarranted conviction, “but like hell you don’t. Spill it, _Sandalphon_.”

“Spill _what?!”_

“Start with how you're feeling,” Gran says, helpfully.

“I’m just fine!” Sandalphon tries to protest—he yelps on the final syllable as Gran steps forward to pinch an unguarded cheek, so it doesn’t come off very assertively. He does wave Gran’s hand off very energetically, and that more than anything is what leads Lucifer to consider believing him. “I’m serious. I’m all healed up, so _stop that.”_

Djeeta prods one of the shrine pillars in demonstration, and it creaks worryingly. “Your strength obviously isn’t replenished yet, though.”

Sandalphon rolls his eyes, looking a million times more like the young man that is his apparent form than the god he’s supposed to be. Like this, he could almost blend into the crowds milling about the city. “It’ll come back in a few days—“

“And whatever you’re fighting? That’s not going to come back and finish you off, is it? In the meantime?” asks Gran.

“No.”

“ _‘You should see the other guy’_ ,” Djeeta continues for him in a faux low voice, getting a glare for her trouble. Still, Sandalphon refuses to elaborate.

Gran sighs in resignation; it’s clear that this is a well-rehearsed song-and-dance routine between the three of them, with the two teenagers prying as far as they can until Sandalphon turns into a verbal brick wall. But then a fresh spark enters Gran’s eyes, and he slides up to Lucifer with a smile. “Mr. Canaan,” he begins brightly. A new tactic. “How did you and Sandalphon meet?”

Gran's aim strikes true—Sandalphon's caught off guard. Once again his wings betray him by flaring up just a little, and Lucifer thinks guiltily that maybe he shouldn’t find it as cute as he does.

“Well—“ It finally registers in his consciousness that Gran is expecting a response, and so Lucifer stumbles over his words slightly. “I crashed into him. In my plane.”

A pause.

“Sorry, you _what?”_

“I’m a pilot,” Lucifer says by way of explanation. “I was rather worried, actually. Sandalphon left quite a bit of blood on it. I found him injured on land, after. He told me not to concern myself, and that it wasn’t my fault, but….”

Unlike with Lyria, who had sat still at rapt attention as he recounted everything, Djeeta looks like she’s two seconds from convulsing with laughter, and even Gran has difficulty keeping his polite smile on. Sandalphon, who has not managed to interject at all, seems to be completely outmatched and definitely looks increasingly flushed by the second.

“You—“ Djeeta snorts inelegantly. “—You really _fell hard_ for this guy, huh?”

Sandalphon chokes. _”Wh—“_

Gran is turned away from the rest of them, but his shoulders are shaking. When he turns back he’s surreptitiously wiping tears from his eyes, and he has to cough to compose himself. With seemingly herculean effort, he returns his face to a neutral state. “Was Sandalphon in your blind spot or something?”

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure if he was in my field of vision. Before meeting Sandalphon, I don’t think I was able to perceive the supernatural at all.” Lucifer frowns, thinking. “I’m not sure when I became able to, to be honest.”

They're all looking at him curiously. “You haven't always been able to see spirits?” asks Gran, but Lucifer simply shakes his head. “Sandalphon is the first, and still the only, supernatural being I've seen. Of course, I can't rule out the possibility that I've always seen such beings and just not realised it.”

“No, some of them are pretty out there,” Djeeta says doubtfully. “I think you'd have known.” She hums, a thoughtful look on her face. “Then you wouldn't really know how to protect yourself either, huh.”

“If we make a protective charm, can you bless it for us?” Gran asks Sandalphon, who looks slightly offended, maybe because they've gone straight from bullying him to asking him a favour. “Pretty please!”

Sandalphon huffs. "Did you think I was going to just let him walk out empty-handed, knowing that? What kind of a god did you take me for?”

There's a burst of cheer (“O great god Sandalphon!” “Please receive our humble gratitude!”) and quicker than Lucifer can process, the two siblings have already whipped out an assortment of stationery, right there on the ground: a set of square origami paper, a brush, and a bottle of ink.

With well-practised moves, Gran gathers himself and swiftly calligraphs two elaborate glyphs onto the paper, not a stroke out of place, before he passes the result to Djeeta, who folds the paper into itself, over and over again. She's making a crane, Lucifer realises, as she forms the beak by folding back its thin neck and bends the wings into form. And that's not all: Lucifer can sense that she's concentrating the crane with her own energy, weaving the threads of her power elegantly into Gran's brushstrokes, and the crane becomes a tapestry of prayer, holding within its slight paper body the sincere wishes of two children.

Lucifer marvels, thinking not for the first time about what kind of a world he must have missed this whole time, unable to see anything. How he might have continued in ignorance, save for this accident of sight. How lonely this world must be, for these kids living with one foot inside it. And as for those who have no choice but to exist solely within—

Sandalphon reaches out for the paper crane, but Djeeta raises a hand to stop him. “Didn't Mr. Canaan just leave you an offering? Receiving that properly first would make the blessing more effective, don't you agree?”

“... What's this supposed to be?”

Sandalphon looks dubiously at a metal cylinder, which he's extracted out of the package on the dais.

“It's a thermos,” Gran says.

“It's a thermos,” Djeeta says, giggling. “The cap doubles as a cup. Do you know how to open it?”

Lucifer spares Sandalphon the trouble of answering and deftly pours out a portion of liquid into the cap. A complex aroma greets the air.

“... Coffee?” Gran asks curiously.

Lucifer nods. “I have some trees that I tend to at my place. This was the only thing I could think of. Is that alright?”

A complicated expression forms on Sandalphon's face, and Lucifer wonders if he's made the right choice. But he silently takes the steaming cup to his lips regardless, and downs it.

“... It's okay,” he says, finally.

“Just ‘okay’? That smells really nice,” Djeeta says, eyeing the thermos. “How can you _not_ appreciate this? Is this your first ever cup of coffee or something?”

“It's a little unusual for an offering, but that it's grown and made by hand through your own labour is really good,” says Gran, reassuringly. “That has more value than you know. Also, Djeeta's right, this smells great! Think you can spare us a cup sometime?”

He barely begins to nod before the siblings cheer. It's infectious, and Lucifer smiles broadly. “Come by my house, and tell Lyria too. Sandalphon, you're welcome as well.”

Sandalphon starts. Lucifer takes the opportunity to quickly scribble down his address and place it in a bewildered Sandalphon's hands.

“Inviting a god to a human gathering...” Sandalphon mumbles. “What nonsense.”

Djeeta rolls her eyes. “Canaan,” she says, already dropping formalities in her exasperation. “Don't listen to him. We'll drag him here one way or another.”

“I'll be sure to look forward to it,” Lucifer says.

It's odd. He hasn't looked forward to anything in a long while, and yet anticipation is so readily welling up in his chest, its warmth threatening to spill over like a flower outgrowing its pot.

“Just hand me the charm already,” Sandalphon snaps.

He essentially snatches it from Djeeta's grasp.

But the instant he does, it is as if he becomes a different person entirely. All of a sudden, Sandalphon emanates nothing but solemnity, and duty.

_Ah. I see. He really is a god—_

Without further ceremony, Sandalphon touches his lips to the body of the paper crane.

Tenderly, gently—a breeze of air seems to encircle him, like the breath of a lover, and the entire shrine stirs; in the distance Lucifer can hear every rustling leaf, every swaying branch. Seemingly of its own volition, the crane _lifts_ off of his hands entirely, as if taking flight... but all too quickly, the wind dies down, and the crane soon sinks back quietly into the cradle of Sandalphon's hands.

He takes Lucifer’s hands into his own and closes Lucifer's fingers around the crane.

“It's done,” Sandalphon says quietly. “Keep that somewhere on your person, and I'll be able to watch over you.”

“Thank you,” Lucifer says sincerely, but Sandalphon has already turned away. Lucifer bows anyway, out of respect.

“All of you get out of here already, it's getting late,” Sandalphon says.

His wings carefully shield his face. Beneath them, his exhausted back looks ever smaller.

“... Safe travels.”

Lucifer has a lively walk back with the siblings on the way back to his house.

He learns a not-insignificant amount about them along the way: that they're travelling exorcists, that they're a kind pair of siblings who can't leave problems alone if they find them, that their gracious and warm personality has drawn all sorts of wonderful people into the path of their lives. He listens to them talk about all kinds of characters they've met—especially Lyria, who’s apparently been up to plenty of adventures when she isn't visiting him on the way home from school. He wants to admonish the siblings for involving a girl so young, but the thought quickly comes to him that it's likely danger that finds its way to their doorstep, instead of the other way around.

What Lucifer doesn't learn is how these two have come to be alone in the world. Why they take so much on their shoulders, or why there is no one else in the picture to.

_It's not right. I should have... Should have... For twenty seven years, just what have I...?_

Something's nagging at him. Something he's—

“The thing is,” Djeeta begins, her voice cutting through his half-formed thoughts, grounding him in its steadiness. “We can rag on him all we want, but Sandalphon never tells us what he’s fighting.” She fidgets, stretches her arm like she doesn’t know what else to do with it. “Did you notice he didn’t even say if he managed to defeat whatever or whoever it was?”

Concern wells up deep from within Djeeta’s eyes, and all traces of the carefree girl teasing and laughing earlier have given way for someone who has aged beyond their years.

“For some reason, his guard seems to fall around you,” she says, her gaze suddenly piercing.

“Do you think you could keep an eye out for him, if you get the chance?” Gran asks, sincere to the core. Like his sister, maturity settles on him like a yoke. “We can't be around all the time, so...”

They've come to an intersection—the intersection where they part ways.

These children, worrying about a god, of all people... But as the image of Sandalphon's slight figure comes back to him, Lucifer can't help but understand why.

He nods simply.

It is all he can do.


End file.
